Chapter 1

The Scarecrow in the Storm

Jagged branches of lightning flashed through the rolling clouds as the storm's fury broke over the forest. Crashes of thunder rumbled like enormous waves churning the night sky. A motley flock of warblers, chickadees, and tree swallows fought the swirling winds to stay aloft. Their migratory v was torn asunder and reformed against the shrieking gale.

“Hold together!” the lead warbler shouted.

A small black-capped chickadee struggled through cloud and mist to maintain his place at the end of the column. Rain soaked his feathers, his tiny wings battled the turbulent air. His eyes were wild with distress and terror, but the storm was not what worried him most. The flock’s hasty migration began when marauding Fortress crows attacked their village. The sudden raid on Agrestic sent the town’s survivors careening into the sky.

“Kill them all!” General Traeton commanded.

Like wraiths in a fog the Fortress crows obeyed. They charged through the air scattering their quarry before them.

The warbler commanded the flock, “Regroup at the rendezv...,” but before he could finish, massive crow talons constricted around him, and with his final breath he shouted, “Fly, for your lives.”

The flock dissipated in all directions.

The black-capped chickadee screeched as three spear-wielding crows dove toward him. He banked left and out of their grasp.

“He’s the one she wants,” General Traeton roared, “Seize him!”

All at once the little bird’s pursuers fell through the ceiling of clouds after him.

The chickadee pulled up hard as the earth rushed upward; his wings strained as his belly bristled the tree-tops. He twisted through the branches. The spear-tips of the ensuing crows were only seconds behind him. He dove and banked his way between trees, around boulders, over and under fallen logs, until he flew into the dark thorny vines of a merciless briar. The relentless crows pursued him against logic; they cawed in pain as the angry barbs tore at their feathers. The much smaller chickadee weaved his way through the tangle and was nearly free when General Traeton cornered him.

The chickadee looked up in frightful awe. Traeton was massive, and malice ran in his veins.

“The queen requires your presence,” Traeton said with grim authority.

The General reached out to pluck the chickadee from the briar, but the little bird instinctually pecked at the crow’s wing.

Traeton was not deterred. He forced his head into the briar, thorns snapping around him.

The little bird was trapped.

The chickadee leapt out of the way of Traeton's deadly beak. He struck again, breaking the thorny branch upon which the little bird stood. The little bird fluttered above a gaping hole in the briar, and Traeton jabbed at him again, this time piercing the chickadee's wing. The little bird squealed in pain as he fell through brambles. He hit the ground with a sickening thud.

From above General Traeton and the Fortress Crows struggled to break through the briar. The little bird winced in pain, but he saw a sliver of light through the dense thorn bush. He forced himself to his claws as his attackers tunneled nearer.

“Don’t let him escape!” Traeton roared over the storm.

The little bird stepped out of the tangles. His wing was badly hurt but he could still fly. A gust of wind swept him far and away from the entangled Fortress crows.

“Find him!” Traeton exploded with rage.

The caws of the Fortress crows multiplied, desperate to appease their general.

Against the wind’s might the chickadee reeled over trees and dells until he was carried over a vast field of shivering wheat. At the summit of a small hill, he saw a tattered remanent from an earlier age. Fraying strands of the scarecrow’s brown and yellow garments snapped in the wind. The weather beaten brim and tip of its conical hat were bent back by the storm. Dark lifeless eyes stared out of its leering face, rows of triangular teeth filled his maniacal grin. Beak over claw the little bird tumbled toward the scarecrow that listed to its left atop the hill. His wailing cry was cut short when he crashed harmlessly into the thread bare stitches of the scarecrow’s burlap mouth.

Raindrops boiled on the surface of a reflecting-pond at the foot of the hill. The little bird regained his bearings. Fear trickled up his spine as he looked into the face of the scarecrow. Terrified, he slowly backed down the stem of the corn-cob-pipe.

The black capped chickadee thought he heard a voice. He raced backward, taking cover in the bowl of the pipe. He cautiously peeked out to see if his pursuers followed him. He was disoriented but seemed to be alone. Slowly, he emerged from the pipe and crept forward when again he thought he heard a voice. He peered into the eye socket, and to his surprise a smaller eye blinked from within. Startled, the chickadee lept back. He watched and the eye watched him back, a dance of glances. The rain fell, the wind groaned as a voice boomed out of the scarecrow’s unmoving mouth.

“Who visits us on such dreadful night?” the scarecrow demanded.

The little bird froze at the end of the pipe.

The eye within the eye grew wider.

“Could it be?” The words echoed eerily through the strawman’s body, “Ah, we’ve been expecting you.”

Chapter 2

Into Sky Village

    A burst of fall leaves erupted into the air as a runaway rickshaw broke through a towering hedge row.  The airborne carriage was drawn by a portly groundhog. His frantic scream rang through the forest as he fled. Wide-eyed, he clutched the handles for dear life as the wagon crashed hard onto a dirt path. Thorns tore at his green waistcoat and yellow bicocket cap. The wagon was tired but sturdy. It creaked and winced as it twisted and turned down the narrow path. Emblazoned on the rickshaw’s side in gold lettering were the words: Bozwell the Bard, and the Bala Shark Bay Tumblers. 

    “Hurry, they’re gaining on us!” A piebald sugar glider yelled from inside the cart.

    “I am going as fast as I can, Eca,” the groundhog replied.

    Eca’s twin sister, Ayu, sprang up next to her and yelped, “You’re gonna get us captured if you don’t step on it!”

    Bozwell the Bard pushed himself to the limit. His hind paws were a blur as he ran and the wagon behind him bounced over the rocky terrain. 

    Eca and Ayu darted from the cart, down the handles of the wagon, and into the matching woven wicker baskets on Bozwell’s shoulders. In their distant homeland, Eca and Ayu had been renowned warriors with a flare for the dramatic. They fastened riveted gauntlets over their forearms and tightened their eel leather breastplates, readying themselves for what may come. 

    “Faster!” Eca yelled.

    “Are you even trying?” Ayu balked. 

    “They are right behind us!” 

    Bozwell looked behind him, and sure enough, the twins were right. Only a few dozen paw lengths behind them were six snarling badger guards with swords in claw. The polished silver of their armor glittered as they barreled down the path after the performers. At the rear of the brigade rode the Badger Prince in the royal litter.  He was carried on the shoulders of six sturdy court badgers, draped in lush reds with gold clasps fastening his cloak.  His eyes bulged and his mouth foamed as he angrily yipped commands.  

    “I want them to be mine!” his voice cracked.

    The guards responded in unison, “YES, YOUR HIGHNESS.”

    “I want the little ones to perform everyday! They will tumble in golden cages just for me!” he wailed as they ran.

    “YES, YOUR HIGHNESS!”

    “And the portly one will serenade me as the Bala Shark Bay Tumblers do death defying stunts!”

    “YES, YOUR HIGHNESS.”

    Ayu reached down into her basket and drew her favorite weapon, a small crossbow. Eca did the same. They knocked arrows in unison, not interested in being the prince’s personal performers. 

    “You can’t shoot the prince!” Bozwell yelled over his shoulder.

    “Why not?” Ayu snarled.

    “He wants to make us his slaves,” Eca chuffed.

    “I’ve got a clean shot,” Ayu reported.

    “If you shoot him they will kill us!”

    Ayu raised her eyebrow, afraid of nothing, “I’d like to see ‘em try.”

    “Please don’t shoot the prince, it’ll only make things worse,” Bozwell breathlessly begged.

    The twins stood down and grimaced as they returned their bows to their baskets. 

    The clatter of the badger guards’ armor drew near. 

    “They’re getting pretty close, Bozwell,” Ayu casually mentioned as she examined her nails.

    Eca chimed in, “But we can’t shoot them Ayu, so I guess we’ll all just have to be taken captive.”

    “For goodness sake!” Bozwell labored between breaths, “Just stop them from chasing us. Stop them, don’t kill them!”

    Eca and Ayu smiled at each other and jumped out of their baskets. Standing on Bozwell’s shoulders, they spread their front and rear paws and the wind pushed them up into the air where they circled and dove back down into the rickshaw. 

    Bozwell ran with all his might.

    Eca and Ayu threw back a canvas tarp under which lay supplies of all manner. 

    The twins struggled to hoist a cask of grape jam and flung it overboard. The barrel burst and three of the pursuing badger guards slipped, their swords flying into the air and crashing back down, knocking them quite unconscious. 

    “This will slow them down!” Eca chirped.

    Bozwell turned to see his favorite knit sweater being flung into the air.

    “My grandmother knitted that!” he complained.

    “It wasn’t flattering,” Ayu teased.

    The sweater wrapped around a guard's face and he blindly tumbled off the path. 

    Ayu pulled a leather bolas from her breastplate, spun it over her head and released it. The bolas whipped through the air and bound the hind-paws of a guard. He fell to the ground with a thud. The badger behind him tripped over his comrade, sliding face first into the dirt. 

    “Seize them!” the prince ordered hanging out of the open door of the litter.

His soldiers quickened their pace.

    “Hey, what’s this?” Eca yelled.

    “What is what?” Bozwell huffed.

    “This wheel of cashew cheese.”. 

    “No, not that! Not the survival supplies!” Bozwell pleaded.

    But it was too late. The twins dropped the rickshaw’s rear gate and rolled the hulking wheel of cashew cheese off the back of the cart. The giant wax-sealed circle bounced and tumbled down the path. The badger guards carrying the litter dove to take cover. One after another they flew headlong into the hedges, dropping the litter and the badger prince to the ground. The prince demanded his guards return to their posts. He screamed with such shrill rage that he didn’t notice the massive wheel of cheese racing down the path toward him. 

Eca and Ayu paw-slapped and bumped backsides as the cheese wheel plowed over the Badger Prince. The twins laughed all the harder when the bratty tyrant was pressed into the wax casing and tumbled with the cheese into a shallow ravine. The cashew cheese cracked open and the Badger Prince thudded to a stop at the base of a large tree. His guards hurried to his side and tried to maintain their composure as the dizzy prince burst into tears.

    Bozwell kept his pace down the path.

    “I can’t believe you wasted that beautiful cheese,” he groaned through labored breaths.

    “We can always get another one,” Ayu said.

    They journeyed on away from the prince and his guards until dusk. 

At a small clearing away from the path they stopped and made camp. 

    Bozwell unfurled his bedroll under a weary pine, as the sugar gliders strung a bunk-bed hammock between two saplings. 

    “You had the top last time,” Eca squeaked at her sister.

    “Did not,” Ayu shot back.

    Bozwell kept his head down and mumbled to himself about the lost cashew cheese. He was saving it for a special occasion. Admittedly, sacrificing the cheese for the freedom of his troop was as good a reason as any, but he did wish that he had snuck a nibble or two. 

    Dusk gave way to night and they shared dinner.

    “Pass the berries?” Bozwell asked.